


Stranger Things Have Happened

by ChasingRabbits



Series: Stranger Things 'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sam, Come Shot, Diners, Fluff and Smut, Happy Sex, Human Castiel, Human Gabriel, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Top Gabriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2228859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingRabbits/pseuds/ChasingRabbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam refuses to go back home after he finishes his first year of college. This means a lot of fruitless apartment hunting and living out of the bag on his shoulder. It also means finding refuge at a local diner with an annoying, yet unexpectedly kind waiter. </p><p>Or, wherein Gabriel is inexplicably attracted to a smart-mouthed giant who likes puppies and black coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Installment the First

“Dean, for the last time--”

“Man, shut up,” Dean interjects. “I know it’s not much, but it should help a little.”

“That’s not the point,” Sam lets out a tired sigh. “I’m an adult, okay? I don’t need your help.”

“Yeah, well that’s too bad, ‘cause I just handed it off to the mailman,” says Dean, somewhat absent as he scans through the mail. “Jury summons… what the hell?”

“It’s not for me, is it?” asks Sam.

“No, it’s for dad,” Dean sighs into the receiver, and Sam can hear his thick boots clunking against the stairs in their old building back in Lawrence. Dean must sense his displeasure at the mention of dad, because he then tries to explain, “I fought for you, Sammy. I really did.”

“I know,” Sam smears a hand over his face, staring down at the sublet agreement he’s supposed to sign and return by this afternoon. “I’m fine here, though. Honest.”

He hears Dean sigh into the phone, a sure sign that he absolutely does not believe this to be true, but he doesn’t argue.

“Look, I better get some grub cookin’ before he gets home,” Dean says. “I’ll talk to you later, all right?”

“Yeah, all right,” Sam agrees.

“Take care, Sammy.”

“You too.”

Sam hangs up and sets his phone down on the table. He knows it’s probably not the brightest idea to discuss anything with Dean in such a public setting, but with the dorms closed for the summer and all of his crap locked up in a storage unit, he didn’t have too much of a choice. He’s been staying at the Y until such time that he could find a room to rent.

Brady thinks he’s crazy, but Brady’s also in Cabo on his parents’ dime right now, and has never been homeless a day in his life. For a while, that was all Sam and Dean knew.

Sam stares at the sublet agreement, the signature line still blank. The renter seemed nice enough--another student like him--but for whatever reason there’s still apprehension in his stomach.

“More coffee?”

Sam looks up. The early morning shift must have ended, because the cheerful redhead that was bringing him coffee was now a sharp-eyed blond, and also, from what Sam assumed, a guy.

“What happened to Charlie?”

“Ol’ Chuck Heston had to peace out,” the guy replies and holds up the pot of coffee. “You want more?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam nods. “Sorry.”

“Hey, no skin off my ass,” the guy shrugs as he pours piping hot coffee into Sam’s empty mug. “Cream, sugar?”

“No thanks,” Sam shakes his head.

“Black coffee,” the guy sucks a hiss through his teeth. “Yikes.”

Sam looks up and gives him what he hopes is a withering stare.

“All right, all right,” the guy puts his hands up in surrender. “No friendly banter for you, duly noted. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to gimme a shout.”

He watches as the guy, Gabriel, if Sam is reading his nametag correctly, retreats back to the wait station, replacing the coffee pot and starting a new batch. Immediately, Sam feels his ribs crunch under the heavy weight of guilt. He knows people in food service have it hard enough without him being a total jackass about everything.

He’s had breakfast with enough roadhouse waitresses to know just how shitty that job is. And even if this isn’t some rundown shack just off the interstate, even if it is just a diner in Palo Alto, Sam doesn’t presume the work is any less shitty.

He shakes his head shortly thereafter. He has more important things to worry about right now, namely finding a place to live.

By the time Sam has finished going through the agreement with a fine-tooth comb, the sun is already, if only barely, starting its descent to the horizon. He pulls out his phone to call the renter, to tell her that he’ll be there in half an hour with the agreement all signed, she informs him that the offer has expired and the room has gone to another renter.

“That’s not fair,” Sam snaps into the receiver. “You told me that I had until this afternoon. It’s this afternoon, and--”

“Look, Sam, I’m sorry,” says the woman. “But I told you that this had to be a done deal by this afternoon, and I hadn’t heard from you. I really am sorry, and if I hear of anything in the area, I’ll be sure to let you know. I do wish you the best of luck.”

Sam doesn’t even get a chance to plead his case before she hangs up. With every ounce of self-restraint he can muster, he refrains from chucking his phone through the giant window at the front of the diner. At least he’d had enough sense not to give up his bed at the Y before anything was a done deal, but after nearly a week of communal showers and toddler-sized beds, he was starting to wonder if throwing himself at dad’s mercy is really as bad of an idea as he thought.

He’s only pulled out of his head when a plate of pie appears in front of him, ooey gooey and obviously fresh out of the oven. Sam looks up and sees Gabriel staring back at him, arms folded over his chest, and asks, “What’s this?”

“Loganberry pie,” says Gabriel.

“What the hell is a Loganberry?” Sam frowns.

“Think of it as the lovechild of a blackberry daddy and a raspberry mamma,” Gabriel explains. “You looked like you could use something sweet.”

Sam feels a familiar heat start to brew under his collar. Rather than sit here and let it fester, Sam clears his throat and throws a ten dollar bill down on the table. He doesn’t want to take out his aggression this poor guy, and if he stays here that’s all he’s going to end up doing.

“I gotta go,” he says and swings his backpack over his shoulder.

“You know you only owe like five bucks, right?” Gabriel calls after him.

“Keep it,” Sam says, and walks down the sidewalk in the blistering heat to the bus stop.

He doesn’t need any charity, even though a slice of pie hardly qualifies as a charitable donation. If there’s one thing his life has taught him, it’s to trust no one. He thought being away from dad, and even Dean, would help put him in a different mindset, but after today he’s right back to being twelve-years-old. Now he’s got his broke-ass brother sending what’s undoubtedly nefariously-earned money to his PO box, and a nosy waiter with nice eyes trying to cheer him up.

Sam collapses on the bus bench and puts his face in his hands.

He can take care of himself, he knows that he can. He has a job, even if it is only a couple hours a week, and he’s got nothing but time for a second and perhaps even third employment.

He just doesn’t like not having a space of his own. After so many years on the road with Dean and dad, his dorm room was a welcome change, even if he did have to share it with Brady. Going back to a drifter-style life had never been part of his plan.

With a deep sigh, Sam shuts his eyes and counts to ten.

He can take care of himself, and that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

**OO**

Gabriel has learned by now not to expect much from employment in food service, or from pissy college students, even if they do have puppy dog eyes and permanent pouts on their faces. He ended up eating that piece of pie by himself on his break, taking massive amounts of shit from Kali while she worked the register.

Just goes to show what happens when you try to be nice.

He doesn’t mean to slam the door when he gets home, but he does anyway, startling Castiel out of his meditative trance. Their apartment smells like incense, dog hair, and cheap weed, though that’s largely due to the fact that they would rather light incense than clean. Castiel’s busy with his grad school stuff, and Gabriel, honestly, is way too lazy to give a fuck that their apartment looks and smells like a reefer den.

“Bad day?” is all Castiel asks as Thor, Gabriel’s jack russell puppy, starts to bark incessantly from his place in his crate.

Thing is, it wasn’t all that bad. Not great, but by no means a reason to feel as surly as he does now. He grabs his bag of M&Ms off the counter (he’ll have to pick up more tomorrow) and pops a handful into his mouth before he removes Thor from his confines.

“He been out?” he asks.

“I took him out about half an hour ago,” Cas replies. Thor yips happily at Gabriel’s presence, stopping only to lick his face. At least someone is happy to see him, he thinks, not at all bitter (how dare you), has he takes a seat on the couch arm.

“Whatcha workin’ on?” he asks Castiel.

“My never-ending research on the origins of Christianity,” Cas yawns, setting aside his book and his notes in favor of conversing with his brother. “Dad didn’t call you, did he?”

“No, thank fuck,” Gabriel scoffs, setting Thor on his lap and scratching behind his ears. “Why, she call you?”

“No, I was just wondering if that had been the source of your frustration,” says Cas.

Gabriel nods, “Good a guess as any, I suppose.”

“If it’s not dad and it wasn’t a bad day,” Cas tries to riddle out, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Don’t hurt yourself there, kid,” Gabriel rolls his eyes, taking pity on the poor fuck. He’s not all that socially adept to begin with; he doesn’t need a load of cryptic shit from Gabriel too. “Just bummed, I guess. Y’know how when you try to help someone and it just kinda backfires?”

“All too well,” Cas nods back.

“Well, that happened, so,” Gabriel grabs another handful of candy. “Bummer.”

“Indeed,” Cas says. “Although, were you helping out of the kindness of your heart or by the pull of your libido?”

“Shut up,” Gabriel beams an M&M right off of Cas’ forehead.

It peters out from there, like it usually does with Cas. Nothing against the guy, he’s just not a stunning conversationalist. Plus, Gabriel’s not too keen on talking right now anyway. What’s he supposed to say, some baby-faced kid hurt his feelings? Yeah, right. Even if that were true, Gabriel would never admit to it.

“All right, well,” Gabriel sniffs and stands. “I think I’m gonna go shower, probably jerk off and go out.”

“More information than I needed,” Castiel comments lightly, flicking his glasses back down onto his nose and pulling his book up onto his lap once more. Gabriel says nothing, just deposits his M&Ms back on the counter and Thor back on the carpet and shuts himself up in the bathroom.

It’s a pretty uneventful night from there, which bleeds into a very uneventful few days to follow. There’s always a summertime lull in college towns like this, but this is on a whole other level. It feels like the same shit day in and day out at work, the only change afforded to him being the change in the daily specials. He brings home food to make sure Cas is eating at least something, because even at twenty-four and twenty-five, Cas is still Gabriel’s little brother, and Gabriel needs to know the guy’s not going to drop dead of starvation mid-stroke of his pen.

So, when the bell above the door tinkles on a sunny Thursday afternoon, heralding the return of Pupsquatch, it’s no surprise to Gabriel that he makes a beeline for the kid’s booth.

“Hello, again,” he greets. The kid looks up and Gabriel has to try not to snark out something offensive. He’s got bags under his red-rimmed eyes, his hair hangs lank around his face--christ, the poor kid looks like he’s been through the ringer. The least offensive thing that comes to Gabriel’s mind is, “Are you okay?”

The kid nods, “Could I get a cup of coffee, please?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Gabriel nods, and goes to grab just that. On a whim, Gabriel also grabs a muffin from the cooling rack by the oven, sets it on a plate with a square of butter, and brings both that and the coffee out to the kid’s table.

He stares at the muffin the same way he stared at the pie.

“Just blueberry, I promise,” says Gabriel. “Though if you’re looking for something particularly kinky, we got a whole bunch of tomato-basil-parmesan muffins that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”

That at least teases a smile out of the kid, and sets Gabriel’s nerves at ease.

“I didn’t order this, though,” he says.

“Then it’s a good thing I didn’t bring it to you,” Gabriel shrugs. “You don’t have to eat it, but holy shirts and pants, you look like someone just kicked hot sand in your face.”

“Thanks, that’s really nice,” the kid mutters and takes a sip of what has to be too-hot coffee. He doesn’t wince, though, doesn’t even make a sound as his mouth is undoubtedly seared.

“You happy you did that?” Gabriel raises his eyebrows. “Feel good?”

“Dude, what the hell do you want from me?” the kid snips. “I’ve already got enough problems.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Eat it, don’t eat it, I don’t care. I wash my hands of the blueberry muffin situation.”

He turns before the kid can say anything else and busies himself with refilling ketchup bottles behind the lunch counter. Kali, who is out front taking inventory, side-eyes him.

“Are you trying to sleep with him or mother him?” she asks. “I genuinely can’t tell.”

“Are you trying to be a gash? I genuinely can’t tell--Ow!”

Gabriel grabs at the sore spot on the back of his skull, rubbing as Kali threatens, “Don’t think for one moment that I won’t grind you up and bake you into a pie.”

“Ah, nice,” Gabriel nods. “The ever-so dharmic practice of grinding up white boys for pie. I must have skipped over that part of the _Bagavad Gita_.”

She smacks him again, harder this time, and Gabriel lets out a loud enough yelp that it gets the kid’s attention all the way from across the diner.

He gives Gabriel this smirk that simultaneously makes Gabriel want to beat it and smooch it off his face.

Smug little bastard.

Gabriel keeps his eye on the kid, waiting on his tables so not to make him think that he’s hovering. The kid just drinks his coffee, though, eventually pulling out an ancient-looking laptop and click-clacking away.

By the time Gabriel comes back around to give him a refill, the blueberry muffin is naught but crumbs on the plate.

“You want me to clear that away for you, or are you still workin’ on it?” Gabriel asks.

The kid glowers at him, not breaking eye contact as he lifts the plate and hands it off to Gabriel.

“ _Danke schoen_ , toots,” Gabriel winks.

“It’s Sam,” the kid corrects tartly. “Not ‘ _toots_ ’.”

“My mistake, Samma-Lamma Ding-Dong,” Gabriel grins, batting his eyelashes just to be a pain in the ass.

Sam, in a wonderful turn of events, extends his middle finger in response.

“My, my,” Gabriel tuts. “Is that the sort of thing they teach in preschool these days?”

“Oh, shit, I didn’t know fossils could see,” Sam shoots back, leaving Gabriel laughing all the way back to the kitchen.

He just might like this kid after all.

The remainder of Gabriel’s shift passes sort of quickly, much more quickly than he wants now that Sam will occasionally look back at him, his cheeks pink and his Adam’s apple bobbing.  Gabriel knows that face, and oh what a face it is.

Kali takes note of the way Gabriel lingers by the back office, how his fingers sit on the knot in his apron, how he keeps glancing at Sam and sending him smile after smile.

“Gabriel, your shift ended five minutes ago,” she reminds him. “And if all he’s going to do is sit here and order coffee, he has to leave.”

“Kali, come on,” Gabriel implores. “He’s a kid, he’s got nothing better to do.”

“He can have nothing better to do somewhere else,” Kali shrugs.

“It’s not even busy,” Gabriel gestures to the sparsely populated tables. Kali says nothing back, just arches a sharp brow back at him, and Gabriel sighs. He trudges back over to Sam’s table and grabs his notepad out of his apron pocket.

“So, kiddo, can I get anything started for you before I go?”

Sam looks up, his puppy dog eyes dialed up all the way to eleven, and asks, “I don’t have to go too, do I?”

He looks past Gabriel at Kali, who watches them with this cross look on her face--jesus, you’d think the kid was smuggling cocaine in that hair of his or something.

“Afraid so, Samsonite,” Gabriel winces, only feeling worse when he sees Sam slap his computer shut and stuff it back into his bag. “Hey, not so fast. The chicken soup is pretty good; I haven’t spit in it once today. And it’s a lot of bang for your buck, if that’s also something you’re--”

“It’s not that,” Sam cuts him off and stands. Holy shit, the kid is even taller this close up. Gabriel’s barely at five-foot eight, the shortest of all his brothers, but this Sam kid is even taller than Lucifer, and that is no easy feat.

“Yo, Sam!” Gabriel tails after him, fully aware that he’s not only got his apron on, but also hasn’t clocked out.

And also, Sam hasn’t paid for the three pots of coffee he guzzled down, but that’s the least of Gabriel’s worries. He can spot the kid some coffee.

Despite his atrocious cardiovascular health and significantly shorter legs, Gabriel catches up to him by the end of the block, where he’s waiting to cross the street.

“Will you wait a second?” he pants, doubling over to brace his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. Fuckin’ A, he is out of shape.

“Do you need an inhaler?” Sam asks. “Or an iron lung, maybe?”

“Fuck,” Gabriel wheezes. “You.”

“What do you want?” Sam asks--demands, really. Gabriel straightens up and shields his eyes against the afternoon sunlight.

“Where’re you running off to?”

“With any luck?” Sam raises his eyebrows. “Away from creepy waiters who chase me down the street for no reason.”

“Hey, I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Gabriel frowns back.

“Why? You don’t even know me,” Sam snipes.

“Yeah, well I know the look on your face,” Gabriel puts his hands on his hips, still breathing harder than he’d like. “That’s the look of a kid who’s got nowhere to go. Trust me, I spent plenty of time making that same face.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam swells up even taller. Good god, _how_?

“Look, will you just wait?” Gabriel pleads. “I promise, I’m not out to make a flesh suit out of you.”

Sam holds himself in a way Gabriel has rarely seen. When not on the defense, Sam’s shoulders curl inward, as though the weight of the world rests on them. His eyes are at least six feet up, but his stare is always focused on the ground.

“Sam, be honest with me,” Gabriel’s voice sounds foreign even to his own ears. “Do you have any place to go?”

“Yes, all right?” Sam rolls his eyes. “I’ve been staying at the Y until…”

He trails off, and Gabriel raises his eyebrows, “Until…?”

“Until I find an apartment,” Sam looks down at his feet, and damn if that isn’t heartbreaking. “Everythings already subletted for the summer, though, and people don’t look to start housing students until July.”

“Parents are a no-go, huh?” Gabriel offers an understanding nod.

“Kicked out,” Sam nods back.

“Oy, you’re singin’ the song of my people, Sammy-boy.”

“It’s just Sam,” he corrects.

Gabriel narrows his eyes.

“When’s the last time you ate, Sammy?” he asks, smirking at how Sam’s eyes flit from the concrete up to Gabriel, hostile.

“The muffin that you brought me,” Sam replies, eyes not leaving Gabriel’s now.

“I meant really ate, dickwagon,” Gabriel folds his arms over his chest. “Not that a growing boy like you needs any more fertilizer, ‘cause what you’ve got is obviously working for you, but… When’s the last time you had a home-cooked meal?”

Sam shrugs, looking away from Gabriel once again.

“Kid,” Gabriel huffs. “Jesus… You know I can’t let you go back to the Y with only a muffin in your belly, right?”

Sam shrugs again, so Gabriel lets out a low whistle.

“Okay, here’s how we’re gonna do this,” he says. “I’m gonna go back, take off my apron, clock out, get my ass lit up by my boss, and then I’m gonna come back out here. If you wanna take me up, wait for me right there on that green bench in front of the laundromat, okay?”

Sam studies him, eyes intense and frown back in place, but eventually nods.

“All right,” Gabriel agrees. “I’ll be back.”

Gabriel shakes as he walks back to the diner, untying his apron as soon as he gets in the door. Kali, as expected, gives him an earful as he punches out and puts his junk back into his locker in the break room. He pays the balance Sam owes before he leaves and then, his heart pounding in his ears, he steps back out onto the sidewalk.

Sitting on the green bench in front of the laundromat is Sam, thumbnail caught between his teeth and legs bouncing wildly.

Gabriel lets out a big lungful of air and, lord help him, _smiles_.

**OO**

Sam is very well-aware of the fact that, statistically, he just sentenced himself to death. The thing is, after the last week or so, death doesn’t sound like the worst thing that could happen to him right now. And if it really comes to blows, Sam has a pretty big height advantage.

Gabriel lives only a couple of blocks away from the diner, in an apartment building that looks like something Sam would expect his grandparents to live in, if indeed he had grandparents to begin with.

The first smell that hits him when he walks in the door is perfumey, smokey, followed closely by the skunky smell of pot. It shouldn’t surprise him, but it does. The door shuts and suddenly there’s a steady stream of _‘yip-yip-yip_ ’ coming from somewhere in the apartment.

“Cas?” Gabriel calls, only to get no answer. “Okay, he’s out. And guess who else gets to be out too!”

Sam glances over, eyes following Gabriel as he disappears into the kitchen. He reemerges with a puppy in his arms, and immediately Sam feels every single concern drain out of his body.

“Who’s this?” he asks, taking a step toward Gabriel and the puppy, dropping his bag without a second thought. He’ll have to check his computer later, make sure he didn’t break anything, but he can wait because _Gabriel has a puppy._

“This is Thor, God of Thunder,” says Gabriel. “And he’s daddy’s sun and moon, isn’t he?”

Sam smiles as Gabriel presses a kiss to the top of Thor’s head, and nearly leaps out of his skin when Gabriel asks, “You wanna hold him?”

“Hell yes,” Sam holds out his arms and accepts Thor as he’s passed to him. He’s a lot smaller than any puppies Sam has ever gotten to hold, not that he’s gotten to hold very many. The only dog he ever had was a golden retriever, and that was only because dad was in the middle of one of his trademark absences and Dean couldn’t say no when Sam had brought the little guy home.

Sam had gone to school one morning, and by that afternoon, dad was back and the dog was gone.

Unconsciously, Sam holds Thor closer to him.

“You like dogs, huh?” Gabriel smiles.

“Yeah,” Sam nods. “I… yeah.”

He buries his nose in Thor’s fur, trying to keep the memory of his resulting fight with dad out of his head, which then descends into Sam recalling how hard dad had yelled at Dean for letting Sam keep the damn ‘ _thing_ ’ in the first place.

Dean came to bed with a hand-shaped bruise on his forearm and red burning into the whites of his eyes.

“So,” Gabriel’s voice pulls him out of the memory and back into the apartment. “You got any dietary restrictions? Anything make you break out in hives, make you gassy…?”

Sam snorts, “No, I’m not picky.”

“Excellent,” Gabriel declares, followed by the sounds of pots and pans clattering and a string of expletives.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks, not moving from the spot he’s been standing in for who knows how long.

“Oh yeah, just peachy,” Gabriel calls back. “Hey, you want anything to drink? We got soda, I think… or if you’re ninety-seven, like my brother, we’ve got ginger ale and seltzer water.”

Sam snorts and walks into the kitchen, watching as Gabriel rifles through the fridge for ingredients.

His jeans pull tight over his ass, and Sam being Sam, doesn’t look away soon enough and ends up caught. Gabriel tosses a pack of ground beef onto the counter and gives Sam a look, but says nothing.

Thank god.

“Uh, does he have any toys or anything?” asks Sam after a few moments of silence. Gabriel indicates the crate on the opposite side of the kitchen, inside which, of course, a squeaky hammer toy rests.

“Very nice,” Sam smiles.

“I’m goddamned poetic,” Gabriel grins back. “Go ahead, take a load off. If you need anything, just holler.”

“Thank you,” Sam’s lips twitch in a smile, but he quickly shoves that back down. He’s grateful for Gabriel’s hospitality, yes, but you never show anyone all the cards you’re holding, lest you end up royally fucking yourself.

Sam sets Thor down in the living area and sheds his sweater. It’s too warm to be wearing a sweater, he knows, but it’s become a security blanket of sorts. It’s the only thing he has of his brother’s, the only thing he could take and know it wouldn’t be missed. The thing’s not even anything special, just a thrift store find that hung a little too long on him, that he slept in during the winter.

Sam sits on the floor and opens up his legs, making a ‘v’ boundary for Thor to play within.

Suddenly, things don’t seem too bad. Yeah, life sucks, but there’s a puppy right in front of him, playing with a little toy hammer, and joining that soon thereafter is the distinct smell of browning meat and caramelizing onions.

Sam takes it all in and smiles.

After a while, Thor gets tuckered out, opting to abandon his toy for the much more attractive option of climbing up on Sam’s leg and curling up for a snooze. At that point, Gabriel emerges from the kitchen, two beers in hand, and sits down across from Sam on the floor.

“Uh,” Sam accepts the beer. “I’m nineteen.”

“Congratulations,” Gabriel opens his beer and raises it in a toast.

Sam looks at the can, considering. He’s had beer before--hell, he’s even been drunk before--but drinking seems… ill advised.

“You said you have soda, right?” he asks.

He expects to get a litany of shit for asking, but all he gets is a nod and the beer can plucked from his hand.

“You like root beer?” Gabriel pushes himself up. “I think we got Coke too, or Sprite.”

“Sprite’s good,” Sam says, and extends a polite thank you when Gabriel returns with just that.

“Saving yourself for the big 2-1?” asks Gabriel.

“Saving myself for when I’m sure I’m not about to be murdered by a stranger,” Sam shoots back before he really means to.

“Uh, wow,” Gabriel raises his eyebrows. “You come into _my_ home, you play with _my_ puppy, you drink _my_ soda, and that’s what I get?”

Sam chuckles around the lip of his soda can and tips back a mouthful.

“You’re okay with meatloaf, yeah?” Gabriel asks then.

“Eh, everything after _Bat Out of Hell_ was just all right,” Sam shrugs, smiling when Gabriel pauses, laughing when he outright groans.

“You are no longer welcome,” Gabriel declares. “Please leave.”

Sam’s laughter dies down as Gabriel’s hawk eyes rake over him, taking him in. He feels his face heat up--Gabriel isn’t checking him out, is he?

And if he is, why isn’t Sam telling him to knock it off?

Yeah, fooling around with Brady last year was one thing. Brady is tall and broad-shouldered, even if he is kind of a dick most of the time. He is also very much Sam’s own age, which, while not ancient, Gabriel is not.

“Um,” Sam clears his throat. “Yeah, meatloaf sounds good, though. To tell you the truth, I’ve never actually had it before.”

Gabriel’s eyes go wide.

“Your mom never made meatloaf?” he asks.

“I don’t have a mom,” Sam states before he can help himself. The lines on Gabriel’s face go soft, his eyelids fluttering as the statement sinks in.

“Shit,” he finally concludes. “I’m sorry, kid.”

Sam shrugs, “It’s all right. She died when I was a baby. I don’t even remember her.”

At Gabriel’s increasingly pitying face, Sam continues, “I mean, I know what she looked like, and what she was like when she was alive, ‘cause I have pictures and everything, and my brother talks about her sometimes, but. I don’t have any of my own memories, y’know?”

“No, yeah,” Gabriel nods, no longer looking at Sam, but at the patch of carpet by Sam’s knee. “Still, had to be hard.”

“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” Sam shifts, brushing his knuckles along the soft fur of Thor’s coat.

“Fair enough,” Gabriel nods back. “You got a brother, though?”

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam says. “He’s older, kinda looked out for me… still does, actually.”

“I sense a great annoyance in you, young Skywalker,” Gabriel waves a hand in front of him, and Sam chuckles.

“Nah, I know he means well, it’s just… frustrating,” he says. “Like I can’t take care of myself, even though I’m doing just fine.”

“Far be it for me to say what is and isn’t fine,” Gabriel interjects, “But you are homeless.”

“Yeah, well,” Sam sniffs. “Growing up with my dad, that’s not exactly foreign territory.”

Fuck, how did he end up talking about this again?

“I got brothers too,” Gabriel steers the conversation blissfully away from an impending rant about John Winchester and his stellar parenting. “Got two older brothers, Michael and Lucifer. And I live with my little brother Cas. He’s my half brother, though. Daddy didn’t exactly know how to keep it in the pantaloons, if you catch my drift.”

Sam snorts.

“Your brother an egghead like you?” Gabriel asks.

“I’m not an egghead,” Sam frowns back.

“You go to Stanford, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but--”

“And if you’re homeless and have been homeless before, and your dad gave you the boot, I’m guessing no one’s paying your way except Sallie Mae and scholarships,” Gabriel continues.

“Scholarships and grants,” Sam finds himself mumbling into his Sprite.

“Egghead,” Gabriel concludes. “Christ, you and Cas are gonna get along smashingly, I can already tell.”

Thor rolls over on Sam’s leg and falls off, startling himself awake. Sam chuckles as the poor little guy shuffles over to Gabriel, embarrassed, and smiles even more broadly when Gabriel picks him up and gives him a kiss on the top of his head.

“It’s okay, baby,” he reassures. “BFG is harmless, remember?”

“Hey!” Sam nudges Gabriel’s leg with his foot. The look he gets in return sends a shot of warmth through his core.

They kind of stop talking after that--really talking, anyway. Conversation verges back into shallow waters as they discuss the weather, what Sam is studying and where Gabriel learned to cook. It takes them all the way up to dinner.

Not only did Gabriel make meatloaf, but it turns out he also had time to whip up some mashed potatoes and some veggies too. It looks like every home-cooked meal life decided to cheat him out of for the last nineteen years.

“Eat up, nerd,” says Gabriel as he props his own plate on his lap. He grabs the remote control off of the coffee table and flicks on the TV. “You like TV? I like TV.”

“It’s okay,” Sam shrugs. “My brother’s a TV nut.”

“You mind if I watch while we eat?” asks Gabriel, flipping to his list of recorded shows. Sam watches as the list grows before his eyes, revealing bad taste after bad taste.

“Fuck you, you did not record _Piranhaconda_ ,” Sam finally declares.

“Uh, I think I did, and I’ll thank you to keep your sass in check, young man,” Gabriel selects _Piranhaconda_ in what Sam is sure is defiance, and okay.

Watching shitty SyFy shows with Gabriel is kind of fun.

They both end up with their backs against the couch, plates long since clean, Sam’s knees folded up against his chest while Gabriel lets Thor go back to snoozing on his lap. They’re closer than Sam anticipated they’d be, but he can’t complain. Gabriel is nice and warm, and the leftover scent of food prep hangs on his t-shirt.

Suddenly Sam’s heart starts to hammer in his chest. What would happen, exactly, if he were to slide his arm up on the couch cushion, around Gabriel’s shoulder? He doesn’t think Gabriel would tell him to stop, and he’s about ninety percent sure that he does not want to make a skin suit out of him.

So, what would happen if he leaned in close, just like this, just so his arm is flush against Gabriel’s. What would happen if, when Gabriel turns to ask Sam something, and realizes how close they are… what would happen if Sam just leaned in and caught Gabriel’s lips between his?

He’d find out that Gabriel’s lips are soft, that his nose isn’t as hard to fit against Sam’s as he thought it might be. He would find out that Gabriel shifting into the kiss and resting his hand on Sam’s neck would steal the breath right out of his chest.

He would find out that Gabriel’s brother has horrible timing, as he walks in the door just as Sam is about to deepen their kiss.

“Fuck,” he hears Gabriel whisper, and then turns to see a dark-haired somewhat familiar person standing in the entryway, staring blankly at the both of them. “Hey, Cassie.”

“Hello, Gabriel,” Cas greets. “And hello…”

“Sam,” Sam clears his throat. “I’m Sam.”

“Hello, Sam,” Cas nods.

Stiffly, Gabriel offers, “There’s meatloaf on the stove if you want any.”

Cas makes a noise of approval (and rightfully so; that meatloaf was damn good) and disappears into the kitchen, presumably to fix himself a plate. Sam doesn’t expect Gabriel to be back on him so quickly, but he is. He adheres his lips to Sam’s again, breath coming harshly out of his nose as he strains to kiss in the time allotted.

It’s not long enough, and he pulls off just as Cas comes back out of the kitchen, leaving Sam dazed. He expects to give Cas an awkward smile as he walks on by and down the hall, but the opportunity never arises. Cas seems to think he’s perfectly welcome to take a seat up on the couch… which Sam supposes he is, as he lives here.

“Good lord,” he hisses as a computer generated monster takes off the entire top half of a lady. “What sort of inane idiocy is this?”

“Pirhanaconda,” Gabriel replies tersely, obviously as peeved by his brother’s presence as Sam is.

“Wow,” Cas hums, “That’s unfortunate.”

“Well, you know what they say,” Gabriel folds his arms over his chest. “Cranky old cats know: bickering leaves out cloying killjoys.”

Sam feels his face contort. Who? Who the hell has ever said that sentence in the history of the entire human race, until now?

Except it makes Cas pause mid-bite, clear his throat and stand.

“I have a lot of reading to do,” he supplies quickly, and disappears just like that. Sam lets out a laugh.

“What the hell was that?”

“He’s socially inept, but loveable, I promise,” Gabriel rises up on his knees and--fuck--swings a leg over Sam’s lap.

“No, I mean,” Sam then sighs, almost losing focus when Gabriel starts kissing his neck. “Wha-what the hell did you just say?”

“Oh,” Gabriel snorts into the crook of Sam’s neck. “Code phrase. Think about it--specifically the first letters of each word.”

Sam frowns, and again, it’s a little difficult to think when he’s got a lapful of blond trying to suck hickies into his neck, but the lightbulb manages to illuminate.

“Oh, my god,” he marvels.

“Yeah, I’m pretty brilliant,” Gabriel nods and fixes their lips together once more. Sam feels a small whimper escape through his nose, which is apparently wrong because Gabriel pulls back.

“You okay, kid?” Gabriel’s lips have gone a little dark, his pupils have gone a little wide, but his eyes are as sharp as ever, staring right into him.

“Yeah,” Sam breathes. Gabriel brushes Sam’s hair off his face, handling him carefully. Nothing like the way Brady had shoved him face down into the mattress of his rickety dorm bed and fucked him stupid.

Sam’s breath hitches as Gabriel’s lips land back on his.

Christ, he hasn’t made out with anyone like this since… ever, really. Freshman year was peppered with drunken hook-ups here and there: boy, girl or otherwise, Sam found out very fast that he isn’t picky.

And, unlike some people he could mention, he’s not persnickety about how not-picky he is.

“Hey,” Gabriel nips at his chin. “Earth to Sam: pay attention, dick.”

Sam snorts and surges up for a kiss, a little rough as their noses collide and teeth clack, but it puts Sam right where he needs to be. His hands start to roam, feeling over Gabriel’s frame, fingers suddenly itching to map out the man in his lap.

He likes guys, because guys tend not to mind when things get a little rough.

“Shit, Sammy,” Gabriel huffs. Sam thinks it should feel weird that a childhood nickname sounds so pants droppingly sexy coming out of Gabriel’s mouth. He grunts, adjusts so he can push Gabriel to the floor and go to town, but Gabriel stops him before they can even start.

“Holy hell, kid,” Gabriel pants. “First off, slow the hell down. We got all night. Second, communal space. And third, and most important, what exactly makes you think you’re in charge here, buckaroo?”

Sam swallows. Gabriel runs his fingers through Sam’s hair, tangling and twining and pulling a low moan out of Sam’s chest.

“Christ, you’re killin’ me, kid,” Gabriel plants one more kiss on his lip before asking, “Wanna take this to the bedroom?”

Sam nods dumbly, then lets out a laugh as Gabriel hops up, like he’s spring-loaded, and darts down the hall. It takes Sam an extra second to get into his head, right, he has to follow. There are three doors in the hallway--one that leads to the bathroom, one that’s closed, and another that’s wide open, allowing light to spill out in a triangle onto the dingy carpet.

Gabriel’s room is something to behold, probably how Dean would keep his room if he were messier. Posters of scantily-clad ladies litter the walls, dirty clothes and books and papers pile in mountains, the only pathway cleared going from door to bed, not one thing looking out of place or unloved.

“Are you making meth?” Sam asks.

“If I was, do you really think I’d be living in a shitty apartment in Palo Alto?” asks Gabriel. He shuts the door behind Sam, wasting no time then in rising up on his toes and wrapping him up in another kiss. Only, when Sam tries to deepen it, Gabriel pulls back and nips his chin again.

“Knock it off,” he instructs. “I know you’re young and virile, but trust me: we’ll get there.”

Sam huffs, about to retort, but Gabriel starts guiding him to the bed and his wits sort of take off on extended vacation. He lands back on the bed, finding the mattress soft, kind of how he’d imagined falling into a cloud would feel before he knew what clouds actually were.

Gabriel doesn’t join him once he’s down, though. Rather, he sets his hands on and starts rubbing his fingers into the meat of Sam’s shoulders.

“Now, tell me,” Gabriel hums. “What’s your story, sweetheart?”

Sam’s eyebrows go up.

“Uh, I was born in Kansas?” he offers, only to have Gabriel bow their heads together and sigh.

“Sweet, sweet boy,” he hums. “So smart… so, so dumb.”

“Hey!” Sam looks up, frowning.

“God, you’re gorgeous even when you pout,” Gabriel dips down for a kiss, leaving Sam dumbly grabbing at the sheets underneath him. His stomach feels all full up of something he still has trouble identifying.

When they part, Gabriel rakes back Sam’s hair and asks, “I meant, what’s your story in bed? What’re you into?”

“Why wouldn’t you just ask what I’m into?” Sam raises his eyebrows, and yelps when Gabriel sharply tugs at a lock of his hair.   

“Smartass,” Gabriel punctuates the accusation with another kiss. “Is this your sexual cotillion,  or do you actually have an idea of what you wanna do?”

“Anything that’ll get you to shut the fuck up,” Sam challenges back. This time when Gabriel tugs his hair, he smiles. It’s only then that he realizes just how hard he is, that he’s actually starting to ache and Gabriel hasn’t even touched him yet.

Absently, he reaches down to palm himself through his jeans.

“Gee, and here I thought I was being nice offering to get you off,” Gabriel tuts. “Turns out you just wanna do it yourself.”

“Someone had to,” Sam shoots him a dirty look, then nearly shouts again when Gabriel pushes him all the way back onto the mattress. He crawls over Sam, takes him by the wrists and pins them above his head in one of his hands.

Gabriel might be a little stronger than he anticipated.

“I think I might have to show you the benefits of big boy sex, kiddo,” says Gabriel, voice low and thick, running like hot sap over Sam’s ears. “‘cause the expressway might get you there, but I guarantee the scenic route is a lot more fun.”

He lets Sam’s wrists free, only to slide his own hands under the hem of Sam’s t-shirt. Where he expects the touch to be abrasive and heavy and there, Sam can barely feel the pads of Gabriel’s fingers teasing his skin. Instead, he can only feel the fiery trails they leave in their wake.

He hates his breath for hitching, mostly because he hates that Gabriel is going to think that he’s right.

Gabriel’s hands go up and up until he’s helping Sam out of his shirt. He tosses it onto the ground, and without seeing where it landed, Sam doubts he’s ever going to get it back.

After that, Gabriel’s lips are on him, tracing lines on his chest this time, occasionally pausing to kiss and suck, and once or twice even nip a few hickeys into his skin. Brady left marks on him, just not the kind you’d be all that eager to get, and so did Amy (which, while unintentional, was Sam’s first indication that he liked things a little rough).

This, though--it’s almost like Gabriel wants to see just what will happen if he does one thing, or another, or both.

It all results in Sam’s limbs starting to quake, each touch electrifying every nerve ending in his body. Gabriel hasn’t even gotten into his pants yet, for god’s sake.

“How ya doin’, kid?” Gabriel looks up, lids drooping over his tawny eyes, pink staining his cheeks.

“Good,” Sam nods, feeling the sweat start to gather on his forehead. Blood rapidly drains from every other part of his body, filling his cock, making it throb insistently in its confines.

“Just good?” Gabriel tilts his head, smirk stretching over his lips. “Well, that’s plain unacceptable.”

He thumbs the button of Sam’s jeans open, drags the zipper down. Sam nearly whimpers when Gabriel doesn’t go immediately for his erection, and instead pulls his pants off completely, leaving him in just his chonies.

“I’m gonna be honest, I was like ninety-nine percent sure I was gonna find tighty-whiteys,” says Gabriel. He looks down at the spectacle tenting Sam’s boxers, at the rapidly forming patch of wet against the head.

Sam tenses when only the tip of Gabriel’s finger brushes over the sticky splotch of precome, phantom touch sending electricity zipping up his spine and down his limbs.

“There we go,” Gabriel hums as he watches Sam’s muscles ripple underneath his skin. “You’d already be done by now if you had your way.”

He dips his hand under the waistband of Sam’s boxers and wraps a loose fist around the hot flesh he finds. Instinctively, Sam rolls into the pressure, light though it may be, and starts to pant when he realizes that Gabriel isn’t going to give him anymore.

Not now.

Not yet.

“You have got a lot to learn, handsome,” Gabriel lets go of him entirely, but rather than divest Sam of his underwear, he reaches up behind his head and tugs off his shirt.

And all Sam’s lust-jumbled brain can do is propel his hands forward until they’re closed over Gabriel’s ribcage.

The best part is that Gabriel just lets him touch. He lets Sam sit up, lets his fingers explore all the peaks and valleys of a new body. Following Gabriel’s lead, Sam keeps his touches feather-light, and revels when he sees goosebumps break out on his soft, pale skin.

Those fingers are back in his hair, tugging on his head, elongating his neck. He expects something bruising, but all he gets is soft lips between his, a careful tongue caressing the hidden nooks and crannies of his mouth. Sam can’t even scrape a whole thought together as Gabriel’s lips move down his body again, as Gabriel slides off his lap and sinks to the floor in front of him,  as he finally pulls his boxers off and tosses them aside.

“Anyone ever tell you you got a beautiful cock, Sam?”

Gabriel’s voice has lost its playful edge, has settled low in his throat and, crap, did Sam do that?

His only response is to whimper as Gabriel’s lips close around the head of his cock. He knows he’s well-endowed, his partners have told him as much, but hell if anyone’s ever called his dick _beautiful_.

Gabriel is just as insistent about learning every inch of him there too, touching and teasing and mapping, but never giving the full contact Sam so desperately craves. It’s rapidly becoming the only thing he can think about: he needs to come, and he needs it like yesterday.

“You think I can make you come like this?” Gabriel asks, drawing his finger lightly up and down Sam’s length.

Sam might honest-to-god cry if Gabriel makes him come like this, all barely-there touches and lustful smirks.

“I think I could,” Gabriel concludes. “I won’t, but I’m pretty sure I could.”

He grips Sam firmly at the base, and Sam tries to choke back the sound of relief that threatens to tear out of him. He can feel pulse after pulse of precome pump out, slide down the length of his cock, but it doesn’t appear that Gabriel cares. Instead, he dips his head between Sam’s legs and swipes his tongue over his sac.

“ _Fuck_.”

“Not tonight, gorgeous,” Gabriel hums. “Tonight I want you just like this.”

Then Gabriel’s mouth finally closes around him, sucking him into that incredible wet heat. Sam knows he shouts, but his brain isn’t working enough for him to care. Everything is this man’s mouth and hands. His hairs stand on end, his toes curl--everything so intense that Sam nearly crushes Gabriel’s head between his thighs.

And Gabriel just holds him closer, works over him like he was made solely for this purpose.

Whatever warning he tries to give falls on deaf ears. He only barely feels himself teetering on the brink before he’s blindsided.

Gabriel holds himself in place as Sam’s orgasm erupts, pumping out what has to be more than a mouthful of spunk, and Gabriel keeps sucking him the whole way through. Even when aftershocks leave him twitching and whimpering, Gabriel doesn’t pull away until he’s certain Sam is done.

Only after the last wave subsides does Sam hear the unmistakable sound of hand-on-cock. With tremendous effort he pushes himself up on his elbows and watches, dazed, as Gabriel jerks himself off.

“I wanna see.”

With what’s obviously great restraint, Gabriel stills his hand and looks up. There’s no color in his eyes, his pupils now dilated as far as they can go. There’s a dribble of come on the corner of his mouth, and it’s nice to know he looks about as wrecked as Sam feels.

Sam swallows, “Come up here.”

Gabriel’s eyes don’t leave his, just bore into him as he picks himself up and pushes his jeans down off his legs. He doesn’t break eye contact even as he straddles Sam’s lap and takes his himself in hand.

Talk about beautiful cocks. Even as torturously neglected as Gabriel looks, Sam still can’t take his eyes off of him. The way he works his fist so fast to bring himself the release he so desperately needs is nothing short of delicious.

“Come,” Sam breathes. “Please?”

Sam doesn’t know which part of that puts Gabriel over the edge, but in the blink of an eye he’s painting hot white splatters over Sam’s abdomen, almost completely silent.

“Fuckin’ A, kid,” Gabriel finally pants. Sam fights every last instinct he has to roll over and fall asleep. If he falls asleep, Gabriel can’t kiss him.

He revels in the groan that comes out of Gabriel’s throat as he sucks his tongue lewdly into his mouth, savoring the faint yet distinct taste of himself.

He’s vaguely aware of Gabriel nudging him up the bed, so his head hits the impossibly soft pillow. He feels Gabriel’s lips brush against the sweat beading on his forehead.

“Hang tight, beautiful,” he says close to Sam’s ear. “Let me get something to clean you up.”

Sam lets out a soft noise--he’s not even sure what it’s supposed to mean--and thinks he wouldn’t mind falling asleep sticky.

“Goddamn killin’ me,” he hears Gabriel conclude as he pushes himself up from the bed.

Whether or not he returns, Sam will just have to find out when he wakes up.

**OO**

Gabriel’s legs do not shake as he steps into a pair of sweats.

His heart doesn’t take an inordinately long amount of time to calm.

He definitely doesn’t feel a rush of fondness in his chest when he returns from the bathroom, wash cloth in hand, to find Sam already asleep.

“Hey c’mon, gorgeous,” Gabriel sits beside him on the bed. Sam’s eyes open, two tiny slivers of sleepy hazel green lazily tracking the drag of wet towel over his stomach. “Can you stay awake long enough to knock back some water?”

Sam shakes his head and rolls over, curling up against Gabriel’s thigh.

“Yeah, you can,” Gabriel dips down and brushes his lips over Sam’s sweaty temple. Sam’s long, gangly arms wrap around him, though, and hold him firmly in place. “I’ll be right back,” Gabriel reassures, kisses him again, and stands.

He grabs an empty glass off of his bedside table and fills it in the bathroom, bringing it back to the dozing giant in his bed.

“Okay, last time, kiddo,” Gabriel promises as he sits down beside Sam again. He soothes a hand over the flat plane of Sam’s stomach and guides him into a sitting position. Sam takes the glass of water and drains it without argument.

As much as Gabriel would like to slide into bed with him and snooze until morning, he’s too wound up. He sits with Sam for a while, petting his hair and stroking over the soft parts of his skin until he’s lulled him to sleep.

Gabriel’s stomach rumbles.

He pulls a shirt and decides that it’s now time for a gigantic bowl of ice cream.

He dips down to kiss Sam just below his ear, whispers, “I’m right out in the kitchen, handsome”, and slides out of the room with a strange feeling in his chest.

Castiel sits at the kitchen table, laptop open and gigantic noise-cancelling headphones clapped over his ears. Gabriel begs whomsoever might be listening that Castiel won’t do exactly what he ends up doing--namely, looking up from his work and giving that judgey non-judgmental face of his.

Gabriel knocks his headphones off his ears and mutters, “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You said it all,” he pulls the ice cream out of the freezer. “You said it with your eyes.”

Castiel shakes his head and sets his headphones on the table, watching as Gabriel digs a spoon into his pint of Karamel Sutra, waiting for him to start a conversation he absolutely Does Not Want to Have. He sits in the chair beside his brother, but that’s all.

No talking.

None.

“What!” Gabriel finally snaps, and Cas grins.

“Cradle robber.”

“Oh, goddamnit,” Gabriel stabs his spoon into the gooey caramel center of his ice cream. “First of all, I’m the one who taught you that godforsaken phrase, so no using it against me.”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult, Gabriel,” Cas comments lightly. “Nor did I mean it as a slight against your character. You have a very youthful energy; it doesn’t surprise me to see you engaged in sexual congress with someone that much younger than you.”

Gabriel narrows his eyes.

“He’s nineteen.”

“And you are edging on twenty-six,” Cas points out. “I’m glad for you, Gabriel. I am. To be honest, you’ve been rather sullen lately. It’s been very taxing trying to navigate my way around you.”

Gabriel raises his eyebrows.

“You’d better pray I don’t give you as much shit about the next sad sack you start sleeping with as you’re giving me, buddy.”

“I’m not giving you shit!” Castiel defends. “I apologize if it’s coming off as such. I do worry about you, though, so to see you doing something, or, rather, someone that makes you happy--”

“Ha-ha,” Gabriel mocks back.

“If he makes you happy, then I’m happy,” says Cas. “And if indeed you plan on keeping him around, I look forward to a more formal meeting.”

“You’re being awfully high and mighty for a twenty-four year old virgin.”

“If I can’t slut shame, you can’t do the opposite,” Castiel quips back.

“At least I’m not the one watching dungeon porn at eleven o’clock on a Thursday night instead of trying to get my rocks off with any of the many willing participants in the area.”

“Don’t mock my dungeon porn,” Cas slaps his laptop shut. “You know, as a demi-romantic--”

“Oy, save the soapbox rant for someone who needs it,” Gabriel rolls his eyes and stands. He replaces the ice cream in the freezer and starts to clean up the dishes from dinner. Deciding that yeah, he’s gonna be a total pushover, he piles all the leftovers into a container and sets a reminder on his phone to hand it off to the kid before he leaves.

By the time everything is all scrubbed up and put away, it’s nearly midnight, and Gabriel’s mouth drops in a big yawn.

“You goin’ to bed anytime soon, little brother?” Gabriel stretches, hoping that will keep him awake long enough for the trek back to his room.

“I think I’ll work a little while longer,” Cas yawns back, now deep in a trench of books and papers. “Are you going to sleep with Sam?”

“I thought it was clear that had already happened,” Gabriel says.

“I meant it in the literal sense,” Cas replies, looking up. “Last I checked, that wasn’t exactly a habit of yours. Shall I expect a strange bedfellow when I finally do decide to sleep?”

Gabriel flips him off.

It hadn’t actually occurred to him not to go back and curl up with Sam. That’s… oy. That’s worrisome.

And yet that doesn’t stop him. He slips back into his room, orange light spilling in from the streetlight outside, illuminating a large section of Sam’s still buck naked ass.

Gabriel smiles. So he’s a little fond of the kid. Nobody’s perfect.

But, to level the playing field, Gabriel does shuck his clothes before he slides back into bed. It’s almost too warm for a blanket, but something about Sam makes this primal urge kick in, makes him want to know that the kid is safe and warm.

“Gabe?” he hears a sleepy murmur.

“Hey, kiddo,” Gabriel yawns. “Miss me?”

He means for it to be a joke. He doesn’t mean for it to make Sam roll over and wrap around him like ivy up a corinthian column. Christ, the kid’s so big he practically swallows Gabriel whole. This should be every shade of emasculating, and yet here he is, leaning into it, not giving the slightest fuck, because goddamn it, he likes this kid.

He likes him a lot.

 

 


	2. Installment the Second

Sam wakes up completely naked in a bed that is not his, nor is it any other bed he has slept in before. He’s spread out on his stomach, his face buried in a pillow that smells like cheap shampoo and smoke. It’s all an unfortunate set up of circumstances that leave him with a monumental erection and a seemingly unquenchable thirst for release.

He shifts against the comfy mattress, sighing through the small relief of pressure this affords him. If he does it enough, he’s going to end up ruining the sheets, though, and as they are not his sheets he tells himself to knock it off and calm the hell down.

Finally, he decides it’s time to open his eyes and take in his surroundings. The previous night comes back to him, particularly the phantom pull of sore muscles in his legs and his glutes--soreness he doesn’t recall earning. Sam lets out a soft moan and looks to his other side, eyes settling on the man with whom he is sharing this plushy bed.

Gabriel is wrapped in his comforter, still sound asleep, dirty blond hair sticking up every which way that it can. Sam smiles before he can stop himself, only to realize that he doesn’t even want to stop himself, because last night was kind of nice.

Sort of strange, but mostly nice.

He reaches over and, with a tentative hand, swipes a couple of wild tendrils off of Gabriel’s forehead. Gabriel doesn’t stir, doesn’t lean into the touch, doesn’t even twitch. The only indication that he’s even still alive is the steady rise and fall of his chest.

A blanket hog and a heavy sleeper--Sam is going to have to remember that.

Carefully, he climbs over Gabriel and out of bed, now on a hunt for his clothes. More specifically, Sam is on the hunt for his boxers, and being that Gabriel’s floor is wrought with boxers in every pattern and color of the rainbow, Sam is careful to make sure that the boxers he picks up are in fact his.

Boxers and jeans now up over his hips, he feels a little less self conscious about using the bathroom. If it was just the two of them, Sam might not mind walking around naked. However, he doesn’t need Cas getting a glimpse of him in the nude, frontways or backways.

It’s one courtesy Sam wishes Dean’s one night stands, or even Dean, extended to him in the early gray light of the many mornings after he had to sit through in his adolescence.

Sam stops in the bathroom to relieve his full bladder and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Gabriel really marked him up last night, good grief. Nothing that won’t go away, and nothing that hurts, but it’s indication enough of the good night he had with Gabriel.

He washes up, face and hands, and pats dry, ready to nudge Gabriel awake and thank him for the warm bed and hot meal before he heads out. However, he startles a foot out of his skin when he opens up the bathroom door.

A soft-looking gray rabbit with floppy ears is nestled right in the hallway, nose scenting and ears twitching, but otherwise completely still.

“What the fuck?” Sam mutters and crouches down. Unlike most rabbits Sam has encountered, this one does not appear to fear people. A happy discovery for Sam, but inevitable trouble for the rabbit. “Hello,” he greets. “Can I hold you? Do you like to be held?”

Naturally, the rabbit does not respond, but the second Sam reaches out a hand he gets his answer. The rabbit hops away back down the hall, and because Sam is Sam, he follows it. The little guy leads him into the kitchen, where--oh boy-- Cas is passed out with his face on a spiral notebook and his glasses askew, books open and post-it noted all around him.

“Uh, Cas?” he pokes Cas in the shoulder. Cas apparently does not have the same issue as his brother and sits up immediately.

“Who--what,” he rubs at the angry red spiral marks on his cheek and looks up at Sam. “Oh, hello.”

“Hi,” Sam greets. “Uh, that didn’t look all that comfy, so I thought I’d wake you.”

“Thank you,” Cas nods. “If I’m not careful I tend to become so engrossed in my work that I just fall asleep.”

“I can see that,” Sam offers him a smile. “You know you have a rabbit in your apartment, right?”

Castiel looks over his shoulder, eyes and face protesting against wakefulness, and looks over at the rabbit, now sitting soundly by Thor’s crate.

“Oh, that’s Thump,” he says.

“Thump?” Sam asks. Kind of cliche for a rabbit name, not at all something Sam would expect out of Cas.

… from what little he knows about Cas, anyway.

“It’s short for Thumphrey Bogart.”

And there it is.

“But Gabriel and I usually just call him Thump, unless he’s in need of a formal introduction, as you have just witnessed and been party to.”

From his crate, Thor gives a big, dramatic yawn and stretches the sleep out of his tiny puppy body. He sees Sam and immediately starts to paw at the sides of the crate, whining to be let out.

“Do you think I could hold him?” asks Sam.

“You may be a great deal larger than him, but I suspect that you have enough control over your motor skills that you would neither crush him nor drop him if you were to attempt to hold him,” Cas ends this with a yawn and stretches his arms high up above his head.

Sam takes that as a long-winded ‘yes’, and squats down to let Thor out of his crate.

“He probably needs to go outside,” says Cas as he stands. He grabs the tiny leash from the drawer beside the refrigerator, and an even teenier harness. “Here, I’ll take him.”

Sam hands over Thor, giving him a little wave before Cas hooks him up and takes him out the front door. He supposes that’s a good thing, as he really needs to finish getting dressed and get going.

Gabriel is still asleep, though now it appears he’s realized he no longer has to worry about another person in his bed and has spread out across the entire thing. The covers bunch up around his legs, kicked almost all the way off. He’s starting to get a little stiff against his thigh, and Sam finds himself smiling again.

Against his better judgment, he climbs back in bed, over Gabriel, and kisses him on the cheek.

Slowly, Gabriel comes to, scrunching his eyes shut before opening them with a series of rapid blinks. He then realizes Sam is on top of him and gives him a smile.

“Aw, and it’s not even my birthday.”

Sam grins and, on a whim, ducks down to pull Gabriel's lips in between his. It feels just as nice as it did last night, that's for damn sure. And when Gabriel shifts, and Sam can feel him against his leg, that _definitely_ still feels just as good.

Gabriel soon abandons this, however, in favor of rolling over and putting his pillow over his head.

"Hey," Sam laughs and climbs on top of him. Gabriel whines and clamps down on his pillow. "Aw, c'mon," Sam sits down right on the small of Gabriel's back. He splays his hands over the sides of his ribs and leans down to ask, "Not a morning person?"

Gabriel shakes his head.

Sam nuzzles his way under the pillow and noses along his neck. He kisses him on his jaw, rubs his fingers into Gabriel's soft skin, until he whines yet again.

"You're diabolical."

"Yep," Sam affirms. "Evil, I've been told."

"Nah," Gabriel removes the pillow and rolls over, still looking bleary-eyed and sleepy. "Not evil. Overdressed, but not evil."

Sam raises an eyebrow and combs his fingers through Gabriel's hair. As much as he doesn't want to, he does determine, "I should get going."

There's a pinch between Gabriel's eyebrows, but Sam doesn't meet nearly the amount of resistance he expects. All he does is yawn and say, "Lemme make you breakfast at least."

For a guy who has no natural inclination to be up before noon, Gabriel can whip up a pretty decent breakfast. Cas’ interest even peaks when he returns from outside with Thor, and clears the table of his work.

Bacon and a stack of pancakes comes to Sam not a moment too soon, which Gabriel accompanies with a bottle of real maple syrup and a stick of actual butter. Sam doesn’t believe in dressing something up until he knows just what he’s dealing with. He cuts a small bite with the edge of his fork and, holy crap, his mouth floods at the sudden harmonization of flavors on his tongue.

“What’s in these?” Sam asks, only very barely buttering the pancakes. Gabriel sets down two steaming mugs on the table, and then a plate in front of Cas.

“Crack,” Gabriel replies. “Nothing like some good ol’ fashioned crack rock to start your day off right.”

“And how,” Castiel adds through a mouthful.

Gabriel snorts and sits, hands closing around a large helping of milky white coffee.

“Cinnamon sugar,” he says then, and Sam looks closer. Indeed there are speckles of cinnamon in the top-most cake.

He can’t be polite any longer, though. His stomach cries out to be filled, and so Sam does just that, practically inhaling his first plate before Gabriel asks, “You want another?”

Mouth too full to speak, Sam nods.

“So, Sam,” Gabriel turns while he waits for the batter on the griddle to bubble. “Where you off to today?”

Sam shrugs, busying himself with his coffee.

Truth be told, he’ll probably go to the library and look for apartments on his computer. If worse comes to worse, at least he’ll be in a place where he can read the rest of his sorrows away.

Though, he does suppose he could always come back here.

Only, no. That’s the dictionary definition of an imposition, and Sam’s not about to be anyone’s burden.

“I have an appointment later with a guy,” Sam clears his throat. “For an apartment. An apartment… guy.”

“Holy fuck, you are a lousy liar,” Gabriel folds his arms over his chest.

“You caught me off guard,” Sam shrugs.

“Yeah, and good liars can think on the fly, pretty boy,” Gabriel slides the pancake off the griddle and onto Sam’s plate. “Look, kiddo, we got plenty of people we can call. Nobody our age can afford to live by themselves; someone’s always looking for a new roommate.”

“I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine,” Sam says, that deeply ingrained Winchester pride speaking for him long before he can get a reasonable response working in his brain.

“Well, you know you can always stay here if you need,” Gabriel offers. “We don’t mind. Right, Cas?”

“I have noise-cancelling headphones,” Cas nods,

“Not what I asked, but charming all the same,” Gabriel claps him on the shoulder.

There’s a little knot of discomfort in Sam’s chest at the thought. It’s not that he doesn’t like them. Plus, he’s pretty sure if they wanted to kill him, they would have done it already. It’s just… there’s something about crashing on a stranger’s couch that seems a little--

Off-putting.

“Again, I appreciate it,” says Sam. “But I’m an adult. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive, y’know,” Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “Cas, are you a grown man?”

“More or less.”

“Do I still worry about you?”

“Constantly. I don’t know how you don’t exhaust yourself,” Cas shakes his head and then looks up at Sam. “It’s an unfortunate part of his personality, that he worries about people. We’re working on it, but it is tedium at its finest.”

“God, you’re such a shithead,” Gabriel sighs, just as Sam’s lips quirk up into a smile.

They finish the rest of their breakfast, delving into light chit-chat. Sam finds out that Cas is getting his Ph.D. in religious studies, with a specific concentration in Christianity.

He also learns that Gabriel went to community college for two semesters before he dropped out and started working in food service.

“Too many fresh-faced eighteen-year-olds,” Gabriel shakes his head. “I didn’t have enough fists to be able to adequately give them all the beatdowns they deserved.”

“Weren’t you also a fresh-faced eighteen-year-old?” Sam asks.

“Shut up.”

Sam nudges Gabriel’s foot under the table, and, with a smile, Gabriel gently nudges back.

By the time he’s done feeding, Sam is groggy all over again, even in the wake of what had to have been the world’s strongest cup of coffee.

“You know where the bed is,” says Gabriel as he clears the table. “I told you, stay as long as you want.”

Sam casts a look over at Cas, who Sam has determined is the saner of the two, and is met with a nod.

Frankly, sleeping in a bed sounds much better than sleeping on a bench, or in the stacks at the public library.

But the damn Winchester pride surfaces all too soon again, and he’s left shaking his head.

“And I told you, I appreciate it,” he stands and stretches. He tries not to dwell on the look Gabriel gives him--a mix of disappointment and fed-up and concern that makes Sam feel like he’s three inches tall.

He gathers up all of his stuff, figuring it’s probably best if he leaves before things get too real, or worse, before he changes his mind. He’s already got a big brother worrying about him constantly, sending him money he doesn’t have just because _that’s what he does_.

“Sam, hang on,” Gabriel interjects just as Sam slips his bag over his shoulder. There’s a brown paper sack in his hands--good merciful god, did Gabriel pack him a lunch.

“Dude, I’m not five!” Sam snaps before he means to, and Gabriel actually appears to withdraw.

“I never said you were,” he says, and holds out the bag. “It’s a meatloaf sandwich. Will you please take it? I don’t care what the hell you do with it, but, for me, just take it.”

“Right, so this is all about you being a good samaritan,” Sam nods and snatches the lunch bag. “All so you can feel good about yourself.”

“You’re goddamned right,” Gabriel tosses back, and Sam raises his eyebrows. Usually people go on defense when you tell them that they’re being kind for selfish reasons. Gabriel continues, “I wanna know I helped you in every way you’d let me, because for some reason, my dumb ass decided that it cares about you, you fucking giraffe.”

Gabriel extends his hand, “Lemme see your phone.”

Obediently, Sam fishes in his pocket and hands over his crappy little pay-as-you-go. He’ll get on a real plan one day.

Maybe.

“This is my number,” Gabriel explains as he punches himself in. “You know where I live, you know where I work. Hell, you even know how to find Jesus Christ Superstar over there.”

He hands Sam the phone, not a line of mirth wrinkling his face, “If you need anything, I mean _anything_ , gimme a ring. Even if you just need to get your rocks off again.”

The smile is back on his face, but there’s still concern behind his eyes. Sam nods and mumbles a quick ‘thank you’ before he slips the lunch bag into his backpack and leaves.

It’s not until he gets to the first stoplight, while he’s waiting to cross the street, that he asks himself, “What the fuck just happened?”

**oo**

Sam never calls.

He never even comes back to the diner, and after a week, Gabriel starts to worry. His stomach knots up every time the kid crosses his mind--except, Sam made it explicitly clear that he is not a child and does not like being treated as such.

Children must be treated differently in his family, because in Gabriel’s family, being treated like a child means being ignored and patronized within an inch of your sanity.

To occupy his mind, Gabriel takes to picking up more and more shifts at work. Everything will get vastly more hectic when the city swells back up with college kids, but for now everything is relatively mellow.

He sort of wishes he hadn’t agreed to cover Andy’s shift, though, since Andy works the graveyard shift on Saturday nights. Again, not nearly as bad as it would be if school was in session, since drunk college kids live off of cheap diner food, but just late enough and just busy enough to leave Gabriel dragging ass.

Around two in the morning, just as things are starting to wind down again, Gabriel’s phone rings in his apron pocket. Fuck, he forgot to put it back in his locker after his break. Thank god Kali never shows up during graveyard shift, otherwise he’d be royally fucked.

He doesn’t recognize the number calling, though it comes up as local. He ducks back into the ‘Employees Only’ area and answers, “Hello?”

“Gabriel? It’s Sam.”

Gabriel’s heart leaps up into his throat.

“Hey, Sam,” he breathes. “It’s good to hear from you, man.”

“Yeah, that’s great, um,” Sam clears his throat. “Could you--look, I know it’s kinda fucked to ask you this, but,” he sighs.

“Whoa, Sam, are you okay?”

“No, I’m,” Sam’s voice shakes. “I’m at the police station. I, um. I got arrested.”

Holy _fuck_.

“Okay, you’re okay,” Gabriel speaks quietly into the receiver. “I’m gonna be there as soon as I can, all right?”

“Fuck,” Sam’s voice outright breaks. “Fuck, I--you don’t need to, I don’t know why I called--”

“You called because I told you to call me if you needed anything,” says Gabriel as he unties his apron. “This does fall under the vast umbrella of ‘anything’, kid. Just take a seat, take a few deep breaths. It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

He’s met with nothing but silence, so he implores, “Sam.”

“Yeah,” Sam’s voice comes out thin. “Yeah, okay.”

“Take a deep breath for me, handsome,” Gabriel whips open his locker and grabs his wallet and keys. He listens as the distinct sound of breath going in and coming out crackles in his ear. “Good. I’ll be right there.”

“Okay,” Sam says. “Thank you.”

“Hang in there,” Gabriel reminds him and hangs up. He darts out of the back room and calls to Ash, the night cook, “I’m out, bud. I got an emergency.”

“No problem,” Ash calls back. “I’ll hold down the fort.”

“It’s ‘hold the fort’,” Gabriel corrects him, and doesn’t wait around to hear Ash’s retort. Only, he decides that was probably a little too douchely and he turns around to pop his head back in, “Sorry, Ash. Dick move: that one's on me. You keep doing you.”

“It’s cool,” Ash calls back, because he’s Ash, and everything is cool with Ash.

Gabriel wastes no more time and dashes home, grabs the wad of cash out of his and Cas’ emergency stash, and zips over to the police station as fast as their shitty little ‘96 Mazda will take him.

Panting and drenched in nervous sweat, Gabriel makes it into the police station. _Goddamn_ he is out of shape. The cop at the front desk looks up, alert at the sight of Gabriel’s physical state.

“No, I’m fine,” he waves it off. “I’m here for Sam.”

The officer blinks and gives him a wary look, “Sam have a last name?”

“Sam--” Gabriel stops. He realizes now that he doesn’t know this kid’s last name. Shit. “Uh, he’s huge. Like, gigantic, with long brown hair, kinda has puppy face?”

The officer squints.

“You know we actually do things here, right? And you come in here and tell me you’re here for someone named Sam and he’s got puppy face.”

Gabriel’s brows fall.

“ _Puppy face_ ,” the officer repeats.

“I don’t know his last name, okay?” Gabriel says. “But I’ll bet you anything you don’t have a whole lot of six-four white boys with long brown hair lounging around your cells back there.”

The officer sits down, throwing daggers at Gabriel before picking up the phone and dialing, “I got someone up here for a Sam. I don’t know the last name, but I can tell you he’s probably that swizzle stick they brought in a couple hours ago.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes.

“Winchester,” the officer repeats and types into the computer. “Thank you.”

The officer hangs up and looks back at Gabriel, “Bail for Sam Winchester is set at one hundred dollars.”

Without question, Gabriel pulls his wallet out of his pocket and counts out five twenty dollar bills.

“Bailing someone out, don’t even know his last name,” the officer mutters. Gabriel narrows his eyes, but decides now is not the time to say what he’s thinking.

He knows he’s not in court, so he can’t be held in contempt, but he’s seen _My Cousin Vinny_ enough times to know that sass and law enforcement do not agree with one another.

Whatever processes need to happen, Gabriel doesn’t know how long they’re supposed to take, but it feels like forever. He ends up biting down each and every one of his fingernails down to the nub, chewing and tearing until his cuticles are bleeding.

When Sam finally comes out into the lobby, he looks like he’s been cut off at the knee, like he’s been left out in the sun for too long, like he’s just ready to shrivel up and leave the world behind. He’s not sure what he was expecting when he finally saw Sam, but he knows it was absolutely nowhere along the lines of being swallowed up into a hug.

“Hey, hey,” Gabriel’s arms fly up of their own accord, wrapping around Sam’s broad back. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He’s not crying, but he is shaking as he takes shallow breaths in and out.

“Thank you,” he mutters into Gabriel’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

Gabriel just swallows and squeezes him tighter.

The officer clears their throat, and Sam pulls back. His eyes and nose are red, his muscles, though Gabriel only felt them for a brief moment, feel worn down and tired.

Shit.

“C’mon, kid,” he claps him on the back. “I got a mug of hot chocolate with your name on it.”

They don’t say one word on their drive back to Gabriel’s apartment. Sam just hugs his backpack close to his chest and periodically sniffs back what’s sure to be a litany of tears. He doesn’t look like the kind of guy who cries, though. He looks a lot like he’s the kind of guy who wants to cry, but who ‘knows better’ than to do it in front of other people.

Still, Sam doesn’t speak when they get back to the apartment, just drops his bag by the door and sheds his jacket. His clothes are all stained, his face looks dirty and not unlike it was on the wrong side of a fist not long ago.

“You look like you could use a shower,” says Gabriel. “Or a bath? Don’t care for those much myself; never did like stewing in in my own juices. But if that’s what you want then you’re welcome to it.”

“Um, a shower,” Sam nods. “A shower sounds good.”

“Okay,” Gabriel nods. “And I could toss those in the wash for you. Got a washer and dryer in the basement. That’s right, you heard it here: a washer and dryer on the property.”

He’s nowhere near his usual level of energy, but he supposes that’s good. He  knows he can get a little overwhelming when people just need time to be upset.

“Seriously, though, gimme your clothes before you get in the shower and I’ll go start a load right now.”

“I don’t have anything else to wear,” Sam seems to realize what he’s said only a moment too late, and sends Gabriel a pleading look.

As if Gabriel even think of suggesting another nude slumber party right now.

(hint: he totally would)

“I got some shorts you can borrow,” he says instead. “They’re long on me, but they might make you look like Jimmy Connors.”

Sam furrows his brow, says nothing.

Damn, that was a good one, too.

Instead of trying to explain himself, Gabriel makes himself useful and grabs a towel for Sam to use, along with one of the many extra toothbrushes Castiel keeps on hand, for whatever reason… unless this is the reason.

Whatever.

Gabriel trades the towel for the bag of dirty clothes. Though Sam chooses to disrobe in the bathroom, he still makes a point to pop his head out the door and hand over the Sam-warmed clothes.

“Uh, left is hot water,” Gabriel explains. “And I mean hot water. Like, I think our landlord may be trying to boil us. My shampoo is the… okay, no judgments, it’s the Herbal Essences, and before you say anything, it was two bucks at Target _and_ it’s the original scent, so.”

Sam finally fucking smiles.

“Thank you,” he repeats himself.

“You’re welcome, now de-grunge,” Gabriel waves him away. “Before someone drops a house on you too.”

“Jesus,” Sam rolls his eyes and shuts the door.

The kid’s bag, Gabriel now realizes, reeks to high heaven.

This of course makes him wonder why he didn’t notice before. He casts a glance at his room through the crack in the door and wrinkles his nose. Trash bags filled half-heartedly with junk line the floor, and who knows when the hell he actually did laundry last.

Maybe it’s time for the yearly cleaning.

While Sam showers, Gabriel tosses Sam’s shit into the washing machine downstairs, applying soap liberally even though the worn out sticker on the side of the machine warns against doing so. To be perfectly honest, Gabriel would rather just incinerate the whole damn kit-n-kaboodle, but it’s not his stuff.

When he returns upstairs, the shower is still running. Gabriel figures he probably has enough time to simmer up a couple of cups of hot chocolate after all. By the time the shower has shut off and Sam reappears, dressed in a set of Gabriel’s old shorts and a t-shirt that is only just big enough to cover the long lines of his torso, Gabriel only just finishes piling marshmallows into the bottom of his mug.

“You like hot chocolate?” asks Gabriel as Sam sits down at the table.

“Does it come with alcohol?”

“It does now,” Gabriel shrugs and opens up the refrigerator. He tips a generous amount of Bailey’s into the bottom of both mugs before pouring hot chocolate to the top in each. Both of them now seated at the table, both now more or less clean, both now with a quiet moment to just _think_ , Gabriel finally asks, “What the hell happened?”

Sam sighs and hangs his head, “Gambling.”

Gabriel raises his eyebrows.

“I just wanted enough money to be able to get to the laundromat, maybe pick up some new stuff at the Goodwill or something. I just--I never do it. My brother always did, and I figured if he could then I could, but.”

Sam ends with a shrug, leaning down now to blow at the island of marshmallow foam in his cup.

“Gambling,” is all Gabriel can say.

“I lost my job, okay?” Sam folds his arms on the table, brow set in a firm line. “They found out I didn’t have a place to live and they fired me.”

“Well, that’s the most counter-intuitive thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Right?” Sam pops up, only to realize he’s done so too fast, and holds his head in his hands. “I’m so fucked. I… I called my roommate from last year. He’s still on vacation with his parents for another week, but after that he said I could stay with him through the rest of the summer. I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do.”

“Man, I told you that you can stay here,” Gabriel fights very hard to keep his voice even. He said that before, right? He knows he told Sam he could stay with them.

“I know, but,” Sam shrugs. “We slept together. And we kind of don’t know each other.”

“I just bailed you out of jail, bucko,” Gabriel levels a stare at him. “And don’t tell me not to treat you like a kid, because I’m not. I’m treating you like an adult who’s already got enough problems without having to worry where the hell he’s gonna sleep. So fuck this, fuck you, you can stay in my room, I’ll sleep with my brother, that came out wrong.”

Sam’s eyes bug out of his head, but then it turns into puppy face and _fuck_ , why the puppy face?

“I don’t mind sharing a bed with you,” Sam shrugs. “I just mind sharing a space that isn’t mine to be sharing.”

“Well, I’m sharing the space with you,” Gabriel snaps. “Now drink your hot chocolate. There’s children starving, people who have no choice but to be out on the street, and you’re sitting here turning down a warm bed and a hot chocolate. Real nice.”

Sam drops his gaze again, and Gabriel knows that if he had a tail to go along with that face, it’d be between his legs. Maybe it’s not fair to pick a fight with someone who’s got no fight left in him.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel sighs. “We can sleep on it and talk about it tomorrow.”

“Kinda don’t think I can sleep yet,” Sam confesses. Gabriel nods. That’s understandable.

“We can watch TV,” he offers. “I hear Sharknado is on Netflix.”

Gabriel doesn’t think he’s ever been comforted by the sight of anyone’s smile like he’s comforted by Sam Winchester’s.

“Novak,” Gabriel says then, and Sam’s eyebrows pinch. “I didn’t know your last name when I went to the station. So, Sam Winchester, I’m Gabriel Novak.”

He sticks out his hand, and feels a shot of warmth go up his arm when Sam’s palm presses against his.

“Nice to meet you.”

**oo**

Sam wakes on Gabriel’s couch, fully clothed and sitting upright, with Gabriel tucked up right under his arm, dead asleep. He doesn’t know when they passed out, only that there was a lot less SyFy and a lot more home shopping--much more QVC happening than Sam cared for.

But even with the energetic middle aged women on screen try to sell cheap glass jewelry, Sam’s mind wanders all too easily to last night.

Shit.

Last night… he hadn’t meant to call Gabriel. He was going to call Dean, except he remembered Dean wouldn’t be able to help him. A shame, since Dean’s the one who knows his way around the cops. What possessed him to go ahead and call Gabriel instead of, say, one of the many friends… wait, many? That’s not--

Oh.

Right.

That’s why he called Gabriel.

And what he meant to be a quick thank you and a parting of ways turned into another slumber party.

_Yeah, right you thought he’d let you go, nerd. You called him because you knew he would help, and in more than the way you were asking, so man up and let him help you, ass wagon._

Sam slips his eyes shut, takes a calming breath, and pictures happily, calmly, suffocating his conscience to death. His surprisingly Dean-shaped, Dean-sounding conscience.

The second Sam shifts, just to see if he can get up and go pee without disturbing Gabriel, the man in question sits bolt upright, looking out like he’s a marked man by the damn KGB. He too comes to terms with his surroundings, and goes from surprised to relieved to see Sam here, on his couch with him.

“How you doin’, Poindexter,” Gabriel stifles a yawn against his wrist.

“Still tired,” Sam yawns. “No closer to buying microwave pressure cookers than I was when I fell asleep.”

Gabriel chuckles and stretches against him, sliding down so that his head is on Sam’s lap.

“We can make this a bedroom party,” Gabriel yawns again. “I don’t know if you noticed,  but I finally tin-foiled my window.”

“Right,” Sam snorts. “Because fuck daytime. You are the night.”

Gabriel snorts, eyes still closed and face still looking peaceful and sleepy. Sam does what he’s wanted to do ever since he saw Gabriel waiting for him in the lobby of the police station, in his food-stained jeans and worn out sneakers, and that stupid t-shirt with the mustard-covered wiener dog in a bun.

Sam bends down and kisses him.

Gabriel shifts so their mouths can more adequately fit together. Both of their mouths are kind of gunky, having fallen asleep with hot chocolate still warming their tongues, but this doesn’t seem to be enough to deter either of them.

When they do finally pull apart, it’s only because Thor starts whining in his crate. Gabriel rolls off of Sam and stretches the kinks out of his back. On the tail end of another yawn, Gabriel says, “Feel free to relocate. I’ll be in there in a sec.”

“No, I wanna say hi to Thor,” Sam grunts, stretching out his limbs too. By the time he’s on his feet, Gabriel has come out of the kitchen with Thor in his arms. Sam grins and bends to scratch the little guy behind his ears. “You were asleep last night, I didn’t even get to say hi to you.”

True to puppy form, Thor cranes his neck so he can lick Sam’s nose.

He follows close behind Gabriel as they take the stone steps down to the patch of grass just outside their building. Thor sniffs around, Gabriel giving him enough slack on his leash so that he can explore for a few minutes. Sam sits on the bottom step, and Gabriel sits right beside him.

“So,” Gabriel says. “Gambling?”

“I know, I know,” Sam puts his face in his hands. “I was desperate. Like, a second away from letting a guy blow a load in my mouth so I could buy a cheeseburger type desperate.”

“Forgive me for beating a dead horse with this,” Gabriel’s tone shifts, “But I do believe I did make it clear you were welcome to stay here, room and board, all meals included. And while I’d certainly like to blow a load in your mouth, it’s by no means required.”

Sam rolls his eyes and, for whatever reason, nudges Gabriel with his shoulder.

“When’s your buddy coming back?” Gabriel asks.

“A week from today,” says Sam.

“Then stay here until a week from today,” Gabriel shrugs, like just inviting a stranger into his home is something he does every day. “I’m serious, Sam. I don’t know if you’re trying to do penance or something, but trust me: there’s nothing to gain from unnecessary, pointless suffering.”

Sam sighs and hangs his head. He knows that, okay? He knows that. But how the hell is he supposed to completely reroute his brain after eighteen years of being raised by John Winchester?

“It’s like,” he begins, “The entire reason I pushed myself so hard was so I could get away from that whole life. I thought that when I got here I’d just… I don’t know, be better, y’know?”

“Well, the problem with picking your bags and getting the hell out of dodge,” Gabriel looks over at him. “As hard as you try to ditch the bags, they’re pretty much shackled to you for the rest of your life.”

Sam scrubs his face with his hands.

“What if it’s not so much a couple bags as it is an entire trailer hitch?”

“Then I’d say you’re in pretty good company,” Gabriel shrugs. “Sam, I obviously can’t make you stay, but. I’d really like it if you did.”

Sam glances over at him. It’s curious how his face has softened. He looks almost like an entirely different person in the misty gray light of early morning, his smile lines just wrinkles, ghosts on his skin. Finally, Sam nods.

“I’ll stay.”

And like that Gabriel perks right back up.

“Really?”

Sam nods again, met then by Gabriel slapping his knees and standing.

“Good,” he declares. “Now I won’t feel so guilty about sleeping until noon. Hey-o Thor, let’s go, papa’s got a bed and a human body pillow he’s gotta acquaint himself with.”

Sam chuckles as Thor bounds back over, his little tail wagging so hard and so fast, Sam is sure he’s bound to lift of the ground like a helicopter. He’s still too little for the steps, so Gabriel has to carry him back up.

It is, by all accounts, what you’d call cute.

As soon as Gabriel has set out some food and changed out Thor’s water, he shuffles past Sam, not even looking him in the eye when he grabs him by the front of his shirt and leads him back to his bedroom. It’s pitch black inside, all the light kept at bay by Gabriel’s very nifty foil job. Sam makes sure to shut the door behind himself before he joins Gabriel in his bed.

It’s just as comfy as Sam has recalled during his last several nights back at the Y.

“C’mere,” Gabriel yawns and pulls Sam in against his chest. He can feel Gabriel’s hand in his hair, fingers wrapping around the newly clean tendrils, twisting and tugging--not too hard, just enough so Sam knows that he’s safe.

When he wakes next, he’s not very sure of what the hell time it is because, again, the room is pitch dark. Sam stretches into the warm body against his, sniffing back the rest of the sleepiness in his face. As he comes out of the stretch, he’s met with lips on his.

Well, okay then.

Sam snakes his arms around Gabriel and pulls him in tight. The angle is a little awkward, and they can’t see all that well, so they keep bumping noses and, Christ, jabbing each other in the eye, but Sam’s woken up in worse ways.

It doesn’t help his case of morning wood, though.

Afternoon wood?

Wake-up wood.

Huh, that’s kind of a good one.

He lets Gabriel roll them over, sighing softly at the way the extra weight feels so nice on top of him. Okay fine, so Gabriel was right: scenic route is a lot more fun. He certainly likes it more than the quick and dirty romps he’d get into with Brady. Gabriel lets him feel stuff: he lets Sam’s hands roam, he lets him grab handfuls of skin and trace his fingernails over all the little peaks and valleys of his body.

Gabriel kisses down his neck, sucks and nips and licks at all the good spots. He didn’t actually remember that those were the good spots, right? Those are just guesses.

Something pulls him out of it, though. Maybe it’s Gabriel’s hand, now settled over the thick outline of Sam’s dick, or the way Gabriel gives him no time to process this before his mouth is back on his. Those lips on his, that hand delivering just the right amount of pressure, Sam may just let a little whimper slip out.

Tiny, _barely audible_ , and of course Gabriel heard it.

He pulls back, whatever light available showing flushed lips and dilated pupils. Sam imagines he looks similar, if Gabriel’s subsequent smile is anything to go by.

“‘Morning there, kid,” he greets, a little out of breath. And because Gabriel’s smile is contagious (and maybe because he actually feels a little happy?), Sam grins right back.

“Good morning… or, afternoon,” Sam chuckles.

“Sleep well?” Gabriel asks, as casual as casual can be.

“Oh, yeah,” Sam plays along, dragging his palms along the mattress. “Best sheets in town. Egyptian cotton?”

“Mm, close,” Gabriel pecks him on the lips. “They’re those t-shirt sheets from Target.”

The sound Sam makes is equal parts dork and prepubescent, and it makes Gabriel laugh even harder. Sam takes the opportunity presented and flips Gabriel back against the mattress, springs squeaking in protest, as Sam descends and fixes his mouth to Gabriel’s throat.

“Goddamn,” he grunts, breaths still coming quicker and quicker. “You don’t fuck around. ... Okay, but I didn’t mean you had to stop.” Gabriel puts a hand on the back of Sam’s head and keeps him pressed close to his skin.

Sam scrapes his teeth through the roughness of stubble, slips his hand down so he can cop a feel. He only barely got to see Gabriel’s dick last time, and he does not intend on letting that happen this time. Pulling back, he assesses their positions, then makes some strange noise low in his chest when he decides Gabriel is too far down the bed.

He makes another one when he actually lifts Gabriel by his ribs and deposits him further up the pillows.

Gabriel says something, but as none of those words are ‘no’, ‘wait’, or ‘stop’, Sam doesn’t waste the brain power processing them. He does, however, look up to make sure that this is really, actually okay.

He does actually hear, “What the hell are you waiting for, fucksicle?” He even expends the energy to laugh as he hooks his fingers in the band of Gabriel’s sweats and drags them down his legs.

Immediately, Sam dips to lick a stripe up his cock, base to tip, and feels his chest swell at the noise that comes out of Gabriel. Blowjobs aren’t necessarily a favorite of Sam’s, but Gabriel’s erection looks like it would fit very nicely in his mouth and he has to.

He has to wrap his lips around him.

Gabriel moans as Sam takes him all the way in his mouth on the first go, until he bumps against the back of Sam’s throat.

“Jesus Fucking _Shit_ ,” barely makes it out of Gabriel’s mouth and into the heavy bedroom air.

Yes, this is much easier with Gabriel. Sam actually kind of likes the feel of him, likes the taste he leaves on the back of his tongue, the way he feels dragging back out through his lips.

Except, after a few seconds of Gabriel not moving, Sam looks up and tries his best to communicate with a dick in his mouth, _‘What the hell are you waiting for?’_

Gabriel’s eyebrows go up.

“Are you kidding?” he props himself on his elbows, then grabs Sam by his hair and pulls him off. “I’m not fucking your mouth, Sam. For god’s sake, we barely know each other.”

“You have very bizarre standards,” Sam’s voice rattles in his throat.

“Whatever,” Gabriel lets go of his hair and sits up. He pulls Sam’s shirt--well, Gabriel’s shirt--up over his head and starts poking and prodding at the back of his neck, down the knobs of his spine, into the two dimples above his ass.

“‘the hell are you doing?” Sam laughs as Gabriel lifts his arms, closely inspecting.

“I’m looking for your damn reset button,” he explains, then dips to snag one of Sam’s nipples between his teeth. Over Sam’s yelp of surprise, he asks, “How the hell do you restore factory setting blowjobs?”

“Oh, my god,” Sam laughs even harder, curbing the hard edge of unbridled lust. “You’re so fucking weird.”

“Yeah, well I’m not the one who wanted me to jam my cock down his throat, am I?”

“Did that make sense?” Sam asks as he pushes Gabriel’s shirt up and over his head. “I don’t think that made sense.”

“Shh,” Gabriel shoves a finger to his lips. “No tears. Only dreams now.”

Sam doesn’t know he’s ever laughed so much during sex. Then again, he doesn’t think he’s ever thought of sex as fun. Something he craved and something he blindly sought, sure, but nothing like laughing into someone’s neck while they tickle their fingernails lightly up and down his sides.

It’s actually kind of great.

“You been letting people fuck your mouth, kiddo?” Gabriel asks after a bit, soft and soothing into the shell of Sam’s ear.

“That’s how guys do it with each other,” Sam’s eyebrows twitch, and then he pulls back. “It’s not, is it?”

Brady, that little _shit_.

“No, believe it or not, there’s no man-on-man mouth fucking clause in the oral sex manual,” Gabriel shakes his head and drags the backs of his knuckles over Sam’s cheek. “You wanna try again?”

Sam replies by pushing him back down onto the bed and resuming his position between his legs. This time he takes his time, doesn’t force anything, just lets his mouth drag and head bob as he deems fit. Okay yeah, this makes him like blowjobs a hell of a lot more, now. He especially likes the way that the laughter starts to segue into little hums and sighs.

He’s doing this.

Sam is making Gabriel lose his breath, making him feel good.

Such a wonderful realization warrants pausing to (unintentionally) somersault off the bed and out of Gabriel’s shorts. This of course leaves Gabriel in stitches up on the bed, and Sam a nice shade of crimson on the floor.

“I’m fine, by the way,” says Sam as he rights himself and spreads his arms over the bottom of the bed. Both of their positions are suggestive, Gabriel’s legs spread in an inviting ‘v’ and Sam bent over, ass in the air.

“What?” Gabriel shifts.

“I wanna finish blowing you, but the longer I spend in this position, the more I realize that I also want you to fuck me.”

“Holy shit,” Gabriel scoots closer, enough so that Sam can grab him by the legs and pull him in. He nuzzles the nook between thigh and hip, kisses lightly and deliberately until Gabriel can’t take it anymore.

“Hey, important,” Gabriel prods him on the shoulder. Sam looks up, smiling now because Gabriel looks like a fucking disaster area and they’re not even done yet. He asks, “Top or bottom?”

Sam swallows hard, “Only ever been on the bottom. Though, not for a lack of wanting to switch.”

“Gotcha,” Gabriel nods. “You want me to take the lead on this one, or you wanna give it a shot? I like both.”

“Of course you do,” Sam shakes his head, met then with a nip to the end of his nose, which is then closely followed by a mind-alteringly deep kiss. Dazed when Gabriel finally lets him go, when he pats him on the ass and instructs, “Up on the bed, buckaroo.”

Naturally, Sam pounces him instead, and pulls a yelp out of Gabriel’s chest.

“You little shit,” he laughs. Sam can’t help it, though.

He likes having fun.

“All right, over you go,” Gabriel flips them so Sam is on his stomach, erection wedged against the bed, the view from here perfect as he watches Gabriel rummage around in his drawers for his condoms and lube. Suddenly the laughter is gone from Sam’s face, driven out by the anxious churn in his stomach.

“You all right?” Gabriel asks, ducking down so his face is level with Sam’s on the bed.

“Yeah,” Sam nods. “Just--it kinda always hurts at first, no matter how many times you do it.”

“Boy howdy, have you been having some rotten sex,” Gabriel whistles and climbs back over Sam so he’s between his legs. Except, instead of going right to fingering him open, a soft set of fingers drags up either thigh. There are kisses raining down all over his back, driving tenseness out of those muscles that Sam didn’t even realize he’d been carrying.

By the time he even hears the sound of the lube opening up, Gabriel’s hands have subdued him into a blissful state of relaxation. He’s gone a little soft, but he’d trade being aching and hard for being at half-mast and chilled out any day.

Especially if it allows Gabriel’s fingers to press so easily into him. It’s just the one at first, but he only barely says he’s ready for another before two fingers work their way inside him.

“You good?”

Sam nods, the gentle hand on his hip keeping him grounded.

Gabriel’s method is careful, practiced, and calibrating. Every intake of breath, every time Sam’s fingers curl into the sheets, every time he fucks himself back onto Gabriel’s hand, Sam can tell it’s all documented and logged away for future reference.

When three fingers can pump in and out without too much drag or resistance, Gabriel hoists Sam up by his hips so he’s on his knees. While a little uncomfortable, the stretch of Gabriel pushing inside him is by all accounts bearable.

Awesome, actually.

Gabriel sets a slow pace, and Sam almost wants to turn around and tell him he can take it harder, faster, but he lets himself melt into the mattress instead. Full up and calmed down, Sam rocks back. Then Gabriel reaches down and grabs Sam’s dick. His hand is still slippery with lube, his touch light on Sam’s sensitive skin.

He’s hard just from that in an embarrassingly short amount of time, but he’s at that point where he doesn’t care. He’s had his fill of fun and now it’s all about coming--preferably within this century.

“Harder,” Sam dictates, but Gabriel pets a soothing hand over his back.

Oh, hell no.

“I’m se-serious,” Sam hiccups over a particularly well-placed thrust. “Gabe, ‘m not fucking around. _Harder_.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” Gabriel’s voice comes out remarkably level.

“You won’t,” Sam grunts. “Now fuck. me. _harder_.”

There’s a fine line between good and bad hurts, but everything about this screams good hurt. Finally picking up the pace, Gabriel sends the headboard smacking into the wall, digging his fingernails into every bit of skin he can get to.

Sam reaches down and takes himself into his hand. It doesn’t take long to coax himself to the edge, a few strokes igniting that fire low in his belly. Gabriel must sense this, because, bless him, he drives in even deeper.

He comes, and Gabriel right behind him, streaking up Gabriel’s nest of sheets and blankets with sticky white. It’s even better that he comes out of his head just in time to hear these beautiful breathless sounds pouring out of Gabriel, filling the stuffy, sex-funked air around them.

After a moment of each catching his breath, Sam feels Gabriel’s sweaty forehead collide with the meat just between his shoulder blades.

“Holy fuck, that was a work-out,” he declares and Sam lets out a delirious laugh. He pulls out and Sam rolls over, just in time to see him slip the condom off his softening cock.

“Please don’t throw that on the floor,” Sam says as Gabriel looks, dazed, at his surroundings.

And then he grumbles, “Party pooper,” as he swings the door open and disposes of the condom in the bathroom trashcan. Sam can’t be bothered; he’s too boneless and happy to care about the glare he gets, or the way Gabriel pinches his nipple when he returns to bed.

“Aw, in the wet spot?” Sam laughs as Gabriel flops down.

“That’s how exhausting that was,” Gabriel says through a yawn. “You’re gonna fucking destroy me.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Sam asks.

“Eh,” Gabriel shrugs. “Not right now.”

Sam smiles.

 _Good_.

 

 


End file.
